


Rest Your Head Close to My Heart, Never To Part

by citizenjess (givehimonemore)



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-28 16:34:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/309835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/givehimonemore/pseuds/citizenjess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles has a secondary mutation, which leads to him birthing Erik's child(ren).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rest Your Head Close to My Heart, Never To Part

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place between "First Class" and the original "X-Men" movie trilogy. Title is from "Baby Mine." NGL, still kind of shocked that I just wrote like 4,000 words of MPREG.

It first comes to Charles' attention in the morning, when he finds himself ill for several consecutive days. Charles has always been an early riser, and long gone are the days when he was a pale, sickly child (around the time his telepathy had made itself known, as a matter of fact), so waking up recurrently and having to puke takes him by surprise.

Eventually, he employs Hank's help, explaining that the symptoms peter off after a while, but that they keep coming back is what concerns him the most. At first, Hank's furry, blue face quirks into a crooked grin. "You're sure you're not pregnant?" he asks lightly, and Charles chuckles. Then, five hours later, he walks into the lab holding a urine sample previously supplied by Charles and looking befuddled. "So, uh, what are you going to name it?" he asks weakly, and Charles politely throws up in Hank's laboratory.

*

"I guess with radiation and mutants and all, anything is possible," Hank is saying some time later, once Charles has temporarily come to terms with the notion that he is, in fact, pregnant. The fuzzy scientist tries to retain his clinical decorum, but Charles can tell that Hank is vacillating largely between clinical concern and scientific incredulity. "Of course," he says in the midst of his latest ramblings, "the most puzzling thing is you'd also still need someone else's, er, fluid in order to become fully inseminated; unless, for some reason, you can reproduce, um, asexually, in which case ..." Then his eyes widen, and Charles palms his forehead, his face inflamed. "Oh," Hank mumbles, and he can't quite look at the professor in the eye at this point. "Um, I'm going to go put this in a safe place, I'll be ... back." He waves the urine sample vaguely in the air and strides quickly out of the room, and Charles sighs and closes his eyes.

Slumped over in his wheelchair, he rubs his temples tiredly and tries to make sense of Hank's discovery. As much as he'd like to pass the entire thing off as patently ridiculous, something about the way Hank put it makes him think that he does, in fact, have some sort of secondary mutation; that he is, in fact, carrying the beginnings of what will become a child inside of him; and perhaps, most complicated of all, that that child's parentage also involves a man who, for all intents and purposes, he shouldn't even be talking to these days.

He lets his mind wander to the last time Erik, nee Magneto, showed up at the mansion, as usual, bathed in the cover of darkness, meeting Charles downstairs, and locking the door behind them securely with but a gesture. "I'm sorry, Charles," Erik had said by way of greeting, and Charles frowns ruefully, recalling the reason: Alex had just left them for good, in a huff of anger and frustration, ostensibly to pursue other interests, though Charles knew the truth: The X-Men were too 'soft' for the young Havoc. He'd felt stifled there, and he probably still would have even if Charles hadn't become significantly more reserved following the events on that Cuban beach, so many years back. "If you'd stayed, I believe he might have found what he needed here," Charles told Erik that night, because even during Erik's short stay at the mansion, he'd seemed to understand the more primal parts of Alex far better than Charles had managed to in nearly a decade. So many things would have been different had Erik not left him bleeding on the sand that day, really, Charles thought then. In response, Erik had simply run soothing hands along Charles' shoulders, and then gripped the smaller man tightly as he pulled Charles out of his chair and into a hug.

They'd made love that night. Charles may have clutched at Erik more tightly than usual, may have taken more than he gave, but if Erik noticed (and Charles was sure that he had), he did not fault Charles for his weakness. When they climaxed together, Charles had pressed his face into the other man's shoulder until the tears prickling at his eyes gradually went away. Erik had left shortly after; his visits were rare as it was, and with an increasingly full agenda that he only hinted at via his surface thoughts on the even rarer occasion that he removed his helmet, Charles had a feeling it would be quite some time before the other man darkened his doorstep again. Sure enough, they had yet to see one another since.

"I'm pregnant, and it's yours," Charles hears himself say, trying to wrap his mouth around the syllables to form the words. The utterance makes him scoff. "Ridiculous," he mutters, but he knows, deep down, that there are about to be many more ridiculous moments in the weeks and months to come.

*

He manages to locate Magneto with limited effort using Cerebro. 'I need ... to talk to you,' Charles tells him through their temporary mental link, and Erik does not hesitate to come over.

"This is odd to say," Charles begins when Erik arrives. He can't think of any better way to relay the news than telepathically, and encourages Erik to remove his helmet. He sends the other man a brief recap of applicable portions of the past weeks. "Hank says I'm, perhaps, roughly three months along," Charles adds when the mental montage has ceased, his hands clasped across his midsection, which Erik only now realizes has begun to expand. "I know it's a very strange predicament," Charles continues, "but aside from the fact that the fetus exists at all given the circumstances, it seems to be thriving, well, normally."

Erik does not say anything for several minutes. Finally, he takes a seat across from Charles, long legs bending at the knees. "Have you considered ... terminating it?" he finally says quietly, and Charles' heart flutters. He bites his lip.

"Not precisely," he replies. He looks away briefly. "I suppose, it would certainly be ... easier, in the long run, to eliminate it altogether." He forces himself to look back at Erik. "Do you want me to?"

"I didn't say that," Erik insists, softly, yet firmly, and then his hands are clasping one of Charles'. "Whatever your choice is, Charles, I will support it."

Charles frowns. "I believe, since it's ... ours," he manages, "then that makes it a shared choice, yes?" They lapse into silence again, until the corners of Charles' mouth quirk. "What sort of mutation do you think it might have?" he ventures, and Erik grins.

"Something brilliant, of course," Erik tells him, and he laughs. "I've always wondered what a baby Charles Xavier would look like," he muses, and Charles snorts.

"I can solve the mystery with a bevy of dusty family photo albums, I'm sure." He smiles wryly, however, because secretly, the notion of holding, of nurturing something that is part of himself and part of Erik alike is both strange and thrilling to him. He releases a deep breath, and Erik looks up. "I think ... I would like to keep it," Charles whispers, and his eyes are dark and blue and wide with self-realization.

The grip on his hand tightens. "All right," Erik responds, and then his face breaks into a wide grin. "All right."

*

Six more months pass slowly. Charles' youngest students are still hardly babies, and in complete honesty, he is not equipped to care for an infant. Hank and Sean, fortunately, chip in, Hank with building things and keeping meticulous track of Charles' ups and downs and everything in-between, suggesting a suitable meal plan, and couching the pregnancy in the scientific terms that Charles has always found somewhat comforting in lieu of his late mother's own lack of parental instinct. Sean, conversely, takes a hand in acting as a sort of surrogate parent or big brother to the younger students; Sean comes from a big family, Charles has been told, and as he watches the ginger-haired young man talking animatedly with little Ororo, he's almost certain that he can feel a contented kick in his ever-growing stomach.

Of course, there are downsides to the entire ordeal. For one thing, the sudden, frequent bouts of indigestion, in spite of Hank's best efforts to keep them at bay, keep Charles up at night, even more so than his long-standing date with insomnia used to. In addition, he can tell when he's in what Sean has (affectionately, he's sure) taken to calling his "cranky professor moods," because everybody seems to give him a much wider berth during such times.

Erik's visits are yet seldom, though Charles is comforted by his presence when it is granted. "Any unusual cravings?" the self-dubbed Master of Magnetism teases, approaching Charles as he sits placidly in a sunny patch on the mansion's property.

Charles laughs. "I have found pickles particularly delightful as of late," he admits, and Erik's face is affected by rare, genuine laughter, which he finds even more delightful. "I've missed you," Charles says honestly as the other man draws closer. He holds a hand over his stomach. "I think she does, too."

Erik's face is alight. "Our baby is a 'she'?" he asks. Charles smiles, and proceeds to explain what Hank's most recent series of tests has proven. Erik listens carefully, and then produces a small, plastic sack from within the folds of his cape. "This is for you," he mutters, looking slightly embarrassed. Charles pulls it open and gapes at the small stack of clothing inside. "Azazel and Mystique had Kurt a while back, of course," Erik explains quickly. "She said it was fine if you used, well, had these. She wants you to have them," he clarifies.

Charles smiles happily. "Tell her 'thank you' for me, of course." He pats his stomach in a way that is ridiculously maternal. "I think Jean will like them, too."

Erik's brow furrows in amusement. "Jean?"

Charles nods. "I've a book of baby names," he explains. "Sean bought it. It's a Hebrew name. It means 'God is gracious.'" He looks down, his face flushed. "Of course, it's not set in stone," he continues. "If you aren't completely sold on it ..."

"It's perfect, Charles." Erik bends so that he can kiss the other man's forehead, lips, and chin, and then crouches in front of Charles' wheelchair, placing his hand on his lover's steadily growing belly. "Absolute perfection," he breathed, and Charles sighs contentedly.

"I knew you'd think so."

*

They sort of play the due date by ear; one night, Charles is sitting up in bed reading, when suddenly, he's doubled over in pain, barely able to reach for the little bell on his night table that Hank insisted he leave there and use whenever he needs something. Charles feels testy about using it, but on this particular evening, he waves it frantically, gasping and clutching his swollen stomach, his eyes glazed with unshed tears. "Hurts ..." he moans, and that seems to be when it's time.

Hank's laboratory is meticulously arranged to accommodate Charles' inevitable cesarean section. Sean dances around a little nervously, watching as Hank hooks up various wires and tubes to the professor, who is himself rather dazed and even somewhat delirious at this point. "I think it's going to be easiest on you and the baby if I just put you out for a few minutes," Hank is saying, though his voice sounds far away. "Does that work for you, Professor? Professor? Charles?"

"That sounds ... lovely," Charles says faintly, and happily allows darkness to claim him scant minutes later.

*

The little girl - Jean - has a shock of fuzzy red hair, and all fingers and toes seem to be normal, human; no outward mutations, then. Charles watches Sean hold her, cooing in baby talk, and leans back against the headboard of the laboratory bed, shutting his eyes briefly.

When he opens them again, the room is considerably darker, and Charles decides that he must have fallen asleep. This is further stratified by the realization that Magneto is now sitting in a chair at his bedside, helmet resting near his booted foot. When Charles begins to stir, the other man shifts, as well. "You're awake," he smiles, and moves closer so that he can touch Charles' hand and face. "How are you feeling?"

Charles gingerly places a hand on his stomach. "Like someone has just cut me open and removed an eight-pound weight from inside of me," he says honestly, and Erik laughs. "Have you seen her yet?" Charles asks, and the other man nods.

"Sean was kind enough to let me hold her while he supervised. You might want to be careful, Charles," he admonishes, shaking his finger for good measure. "He might try to abscond with your daughter."

"Our daughter," Charles corrects softly. He peers carefully at Erik. "You don't have to ... you can be as much or as little of a presence in her life as you'd prefer, of course," he says, the words coming out awkwardly. "But a part of Jean will always be a part of you. Remember that, Erik."

Erik nods. "Of course." He continues to hover, taking in Charles' worn face, his kind, yet sleepy eyes. "Do you need anything?" he asks. "Water? Something to read?"

Charles smiles and pats his hand. "Just your company would be lovely." He blinks. "Is my chess set nearby?"

Erik smiles. "You want to play chess?" He looks the other man up and down and his face curves into a smirk. "Should I go easy on you in your ... condition?" he asks.

"Certainly not," Charles retorts lightly, and watches as Erik stands and stretches, readying himself to go hunt up the materials required to play his and Charles' shared favorite past time. "Besides, I am more than well enough to beat you even without my full faculties at my disposal. I believe this fatherhood thing has made you soft, my friend."

"Those are fighting words, Xavier," Erik tells him with mock sternness, and then proceeds to lose twice in a row. "I think you're using your powers to cheat," he eventually complains, and Charles' toothy smile gleams at him.

"Now, now. Is that any way to talk to the mother of your child?"

"When she cheats at chess, it is," Erik responds smoothly, and Charles laughs. When he wins the next round, he suspects that Charles had a hand in this, as well, and privately vows to force Emma to play against him later, just to make sure he doesn't get too rusty.

*

For a while after Jean's birth, life at the Xavier mansion is near-idyllic. Charles and Erik's baby daughter is a sound sleeper with a cheerful disposition, and everybody takes to her with an almost suspicious ease. Unfortunately, this honeymoon period is short-lived.

Problems begin to arise while the child sleeps; though initially her deep slumber seems to be a blessing, the nature of her dreams seems to be the impetus for alarm. The first time it happens, Charles find himself being shaken awake by Sean, whose freckled face is fearful. "It's Jean," he says hurriedly, helping the professor right himself in his wheelchair, and then running out the door.

The objects levitating in the air is the first thing Charles notices. At first, he wonders if this is Erik's doing, but then he realizes that several of the floating items are not metal. Jean, then, must have some telekinetic abilities. Still, as the objects begin to swirl faster and faster, curiosity over his daughter's mutation is quickly replaced by fear of Jean hurting somebody else, or herself.

This fear is escalated when Jean herself begins to float, rising higher and higher in the air, her small face pinched shut, seemingly unaware of her surroundings, still fast asleep. "Jean!" Charles calls to her, but he receives no response. Frantically, he presses two fingers to his temple, attempting to access his infant daughter's mind. When he finally succeeds, what he finds shocks him.

Images flash through Jean's brain and into his; images of pain, destruction, death. Fire and brimstone swirl around in a dizzying mass, and at the center of it all is Jean, brimming with untapped power, unable to control the havoc that she nonetheless has the potential to wreak. 'Jean, calm your mind,' Charles tells her, wondering if such commands will work on such a young creature. 'Please,' he continues. 'Please, Jean. Let me help you. We can fight this. Together. Don't leave me, Jean.'

Gradually, painstakingly slowly, something seems to take. Eventually, Jean's small frame is floating downwards, and Charles maneuvers himself quickly so that he can catch her in his arms. "Jean," he shivers, and the young girl stirs at last, blinking big, green eyes at him, her face innocent. Charles hugs her to him, not even realizing that he's crying until a tear slips from his cheek onto the baby's forehead. He brushes it away gently and sighs. "Oh, Jean," he whispers. "What are we going to do?"

*

It takes weeks and several additional episodes of Jean floating - and at one point, nearly maiming Hank with a toaster oven - objects in her sleep, with Charles being unable to do anything besides suppress the horrific images that come to the little girl in her dreams, before a decision is reached. "I think this is for the best," Charles says to Magneto, who is dressed down, for once, in a dark sweater and slacks, his helmet nowhere to be seen. Erik peers down from where he's cradling Jean in his arms, and nods at the other man.

"I agree. I think ... when the time is right, she can return to you, and you can help her get herself under control. For now, however, ..." he trails off, nodding at the gate leading to the house they're standing in front of. "For now, this is the safest course of action. For all of us."

"Yes," Charles nods, and watches as Magneto pries open the gate with his powers. They've researched the family carefully: The wife, Elaine Grey, is a small business owner, a self-made professional whose success seems borne largely from trying to avoid the pitfalls of a family history filled with substance abuse and general underachievement. In kind, the husband, John, is a school teacher. The couple has been married for years and has no children, due largely to Elaine's inability to conceive.

The conversation goes as well as it can; it helps, of course, that Charles has kindly removed all variables that might cause them trouble. As far as John and Elaine will know by the end of the afternoon, they are the biological parents of Jean, their six-month-old daughter, whose only extraordinary feature is a psyche carefully spliced until the time is right for the little girl to begin to understand and use her powers safely. Though Charles and Erik are polite, thanking Elaine warmly when she offers them hot tea and begging off a second batch of cookies, when all is said and done, they will remember neither the man in the wheelchair, nor his tall companion with the steel gray eyes, not even when the same two men return eight years later, hoping to bring their only daughter to the Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters.

"It's best this way," Charles murmurs in the car on the way back to the mansion. He feels Erik's hand on his shoulder, large and warm and comforting, and sighs. "She'll be happy and loved there."

"Of course she will," Erik murmurs. He cocks his head. "You're certain the shields won't slip? Neither Jean's nor her new parents'?"

Charles nods. "I used a similar method on my mother and step-family in order to ensure that Raven was allowed to live with us as my sister," he explains. "I don't like the dishonesty, but ..." he trails off, and Erik shakes his head, smiling.

"We do what we have to do," Erik finishes for him, and they drive the rest of the way to the mansion in companionable silence.

*

Several months later, Charles makes his way belatedly to the breakfast table, already occupied by Sean and Hank and several of the other institute's students. "I apologize for my tardy arrival," he says by way of greeting. "My, erm, stomach is making me feel a bit peaked today."

Sean raises an eyebrow. "Weren't you sick two days ago, too?" he asks, and Hank perks up. "And the day before that? And the entire weekend before that?"

Charles coughs. He begins to reach for the plate of toast, but his stomach turns suddenly and he retracts his arm. "I'm sure it's merely a coincidence," he offers, but squirms in his chair.

"You know," Sean continues blithely. "My aunt said her second pregnancy was way worse than her first. She was sick for like, months that time. She had twins."

Charles' empty fork clatters to his plate.

*

"I think, at some point, we're going to have to talk seriously about using contraception," Charles tells Magneto, but smiles as he watches the Master of Magnetism rocking his - their - infant son to sleep. His twin sister, Wanda, is already asleep in her bassinet, her hand curled into a tiny fist, soft, brown curls framing her sweet face, but Pietro is a fussier baby, particularly when he knows that Erik is nearby. It's just as well, he supposes, since Pietro is the spitting image of his other father. Absently, Erik shushes him and rubs his small back.

"I agree," he says finally, and grins at his lover in the soft light of the carefully constructed nursery. "Whatever precautions we must take to keep you from getting knocked up again, we should look into." He shifts Pietro slightly, and the little boy makes a contented gurgling noise. "This is getting a little ridiculous," he adds.

Charles nods. "Indeed," he smiles, but as he watches the other man finally succeed in getting Pietro to nod off, he feels a warmth in his chest, a presence that hasn't been there since before Cuba and Shaw and the coin and the bullet that he'd take over and over again willingly if it meant that at some point, Erik would just stay, and decides that there are far worse things than squalling infants and dirty diapers. "Far worse," he murmurs, and Erik blinks at him from where he's just set Pietro down.

"Pardon?" he asks, striding slowly to where Charles is perched. He bends down and kisses the other man squarely on the mouth, and Charles sighs happily.

"Nothing," he returns, smiling a little and reaching up to brush an errant strand of hair out of the other man's pale eyes. "Just babbling, I suppose."


End file.
